A Quiet Christmas
by Kat Lee formerly Pirate Turner
Summary: Blanche isn't used to a quiet Christmas at home. Femme Slash. 6th in Will's/Kat's 2012 12 Days of Christmas stories for my beloved Jack/Drew and our darling babies.


Title: "A Quiet Christmas"  
Author: Kat Lee, the author formerly known as Pirate Turner  
Dedicated To: This is the 6th Christmas story of my 12 Days of Christmas 2012 series for my beloved and wonderful husband, Jack aka Drew, who's always such an inspiration, and also our sweet children! Thank you, my darling soul mate! I love you!  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Blanche isn't used to a quiet Christmas at home.  
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.  
Author's Note: 244. That's the number of stories that were sitting on my hard drive collecting dust because I lack the energy and time to take care of them as I once did. My betaing pattern has always been to write, then type up if written on paper, the story, read it aloud to my beloved Jack and our children, editing as I go, and then finally format and post. Sadly, this part is simply taking too much of my time and energy, and my beloved Jack and I have too little time together in person these days to be able to keep up with my stories. So what to do? Give up writing? I actually considered it for a while, tried to make excuses to myself other than the large number of stories collecting cyber dust on my computer, as to why I lacked the energy and Muse to write new tales. And then, with the turn of the new year, I decided to stop running and face the problem. The problem is, quite frankly, that once one gets so bogged down in formatting and editing that writing is no longer a pleasure but the actual posting of those writings becomes a hassle and - egad! - work, it's time to cut something out, and that will never be the writing process. So, in short, yes, there will be mistakes in this tale. Yes, it's missing about half of the header information I usually include. But I wrote it for pleasure and am posting it in hopes of sharing that pleasure with others. Do with it as you will.

She had spent Chirstmases sailing the Bahamas and cruising through the Caribbean. She had seen traditional, colonial Christmases in Massachusetts and attended Hanukkah and even Kwanzaa celebrations before, but her favorite would always be the hustle and bustle of her own Southern Christmas.

Christmas had always been a busy season for Blanche. It was a time for children running through the house and squealing over gifts. It was time for the whole family to gather around the grand, old piano and sing carols at the tops of their lungs. It was the time for smooching underneath mistletoe, ringing sleigh bells, plays about baby Jesus, and sexy, and even not so sexy, men in red velvet suits calling out, "Ho! Ho! Ho!" It was time to cook until you thought you were going to drop, complain over no longer having a Mami to do it for you, and then take and revel in all the gorious praise that ensued over dinner, including those few items that were store bought to speed time instead of homemade.

It was a time to speed around like busy, little children instead of dignified adults, never taking a break and complaining over the complete lack of rest. It was time to push oneself, shopping, cooking, and singing, until you really did drop and then luxuriate in hot chocolate, eggnog, and Christmas pies until the sugar rush gave you the energy you needed to get up and do it all over again. It was a time to never stop for long or sit quietly, but that was exactly what Blanche was doing this Christmas Eve. It was uncharacteristic, unChristian, and perhaps even _unSouthern_ to sit so quietly while the world ran on and rang in the holiday without you, but Blanche was doing just that.

Dorothy moaned, and the Southern belle leaned forward and stroked her forehead. She nestled closer in to her side and laid her fevered head against Blanche's perky breast. Blanche sighed as she gazed down at Dorothy's tired, but still handsome, face. She should have made her go to the hopsital, but it was bad enough that she was sick on Christmas. Being confided in such a horrible place during the most joyous holiday of the year was something Blanche wouldn't have wished on her worst enemy. Okay, so maybe she would have wished it on Billie Joe for having grabbed Billy Bob away from her in the Christmas of '59, but she'd never wish anything truly bad on her Dorothy.

At least they were together, Blanche thought. Dorothy falling sick had stopped all her plans of going home for Christmas. She wasn't about to let her best friend lay at home sick with her elderly mother while she was a whole state away and unable to help her, so here she was instead, trying to care for Dorothy and keep her thoughts jovial while all she kept thinking was of everything else they could be doing instead. They could be baking, singing Christmas carols, or even dancing. They could be preparing for a Santa who never really came, unless Blanche paid him just right which she'd had no need to do since Dorothy had started playing Santa for her alone in their bedroom every Christmas Eve and night.

Blanche smiled, heat washing over as she remembered the first time Dorothy had come to her in a Santa suit - or, rather, she'd had her come to her. Blanche had thought for certain that they were being robbed that Christmas Eve, but when she'd called out for Dorothy to stop the burglar, Dorothy's voice had come from the very place she'd been hearing all the ruckus! She'd gone by herself instead to that place, scared and tiptoeing across the cold floor in her nightie, only to find Dorothy waiting for her in a red, flannel suit underneath the Christmas tree.

Blanche smiled brightly as she remembered the festivities of that Christmas night and stroked some loose strands of Dorothy's gray hair out of her aging face. "Come on, shugah. Ya've gotta get bettah so we can play Santa again." Her only response came in a cough, and Blanche frowned. The flu wasn't going to kill her woman, but it was certainly aggravating for her to be sick on Christmas.

Blanche sighed again, mentally kicking herself as she did so. It was aggravating for her, but for Dorothy, it was painful, exhausting, and oh so much worse. It was Christmas, Blanche reminded herself. Even she shouldn't be so self possessive tonight. She heard Rose and Sophia beginning to sing Christmas carols in the kitchen and ground her teeth against them, barely resisting the urge to wake Dorothy by shouting at them to be quiet so she could sleep.

Then her door opened, and Blanche did speak as they came in, singing gaily. "Hush!" she commanded, her eyes flashing. "Y'all're gonna wake Dorothy!"

"They already did," Dorothy groaned. Her weak fingers touched Blanche's cheek; the Southerner felt heat scorching out of them from Dorothy's fever. "What're you doing here, Blanche? Isn't it Christmas?"

"Yeah," she spoke slowly, hesitant to admit that she'd sacrificed her own Christmas vacation to care for her love, "yes, it is. But Ah'm here with you, you silly thing. You need help."

Dorothy coughed again. "It's the flu, Blanche, nothing that's gonna kill me."

Blanche laughed, but her nervousness showed through her chuckle and moistening eyes. "Ah know that."

"Here. This'll get you better in time for Santa." Sophie spooned one of her old remedies into her daughter's mouth before Dorothy could protest.

"In time for Santa?" Rose repeated in a mixture of disbelief and worry. "But, Sophia, Santa came last night, and he doesn't come to adults any way! He comes to children, and we don't have any! My nephew would have been happy to come, but he's - "

"Rose," Blanche cut in before she could start on another Saint Olaf story, "what's that you're carrying?"

The blonde held a long tray filled with little pies. She smiled at Blanche. "Christmas, eggnog, and pecan cheesecakes."

Dorothy groaned. Her mother's medicine had tasted as horrible as it always had, but she'd heard something that had caught her attention. "Cheesecake?"

"Yes. I made a special Christmas cheesecake. It's my Great-Great-Great-Great-Great - "

Blanche cut in again, determined not to have what remained of her Christmas ruined by a Saint Olaf story. "Would you like a slice, Dorothy?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I could eat," she spoke weakly, her words bringing a smile to every face there, "but leave the Saint Olaf out of it."

Rose pouted, but Blanche was all smiles again. She beamed brightly as she took a slice of cheesecake and began fingerfeeding it to Dorothy, not caring what Rose or Sophia thought. She had her second family and best friends right here with her. They had cheesecake, and the love of her life was already beginning to feel better. Christmas might be a time that was supposed to be rushed and busy, but this Christmas, slow and gradual as it, was going to be just perfect!

**The End**


End file.
